Hurricane Spider

Engulfing body and soul.

Photo by JD Designs on Unsplash

The wind squalls plastered hair to my cheeks, my fingers dressed up like windshield washers, ineffective against the reality of crazy glue, masking as water. Please don’t open your lips; I plead to my reflexes because suffocation follows.

The wind rips away pieces of my soul while I bounce between surges. My prison is a spiderweb built to function like a trampoline…